10. My yarn has a much more tenuous relationship with my cat than my husband does.

9. In the four or so years we have been living together, every time I have gone to the freezer to get ice, there has been ice. This is particularly interesting because I could count on one hand the number of times I have filled the ice cube trays. I’m pretty sure the stash isn’t responsible.

8. It is really unlikely that I could afford my yarn habit as I know it without my husband. Just sayin’.

7. When I’m over a project before the project is over, the yarn is never kind enough to knit itself, but occasionally if I thrust it at my husband, he will knit a row for me.

6. Jason never comes out and tells me that I can’t have yarn, but he does go a long way towards keeping the habit in check and making sure I don’t blow my car payment on merino. The yarn offers no such support.

5. I am an extremely flighty, scatterbrained person. Knitting and all the things that go along with it, go a long way towards further distracting me from whatever else I should be doing in order to be a functional, if slightly eccentric, human being. Jason, on the other hand, keeps me grounded and makes sure I remember to actually get things done. (After I finish my row.)

4. I knit. I knit a lot, and I am still terribly impressed with myself and with the magic of taking some sticks and strings and loops and turning them into something real and tangible, and I like to admire that process along the way. While it is delightful to smooth out a sock on my lap every inch and a half and smile at it, its so much more gratifying to hold it up and wave it in someone’s face every inch and a half. I don’t think very many non-knitting men would smile and pet the sock and nod and look impressed with the regularity that Jason manages. I’m pretty sure the yarn wouldn’t be as much fun without him.

3. My husband cooks. The yarn? Not so much.

2. My husband makes me coffee nearly every morning. And I don’t mean that he sets the timer on the coffee pot and pours me a cup when we get up. We have a french press and a grinder. This means he measures the beans, grinds the beans, pours the water into the press, times, it, presses it, and then concocts the magic potion of cream and sugar and coffee in the cup and–and this is the kicker–brings it to me while I sit on my ass with my feet up in my robe on the computer. None of my yarn has ever made me a single cup of coffee.

1. While I have a couple skeins of yarn that are unbelievably soft and squishy and cuddly (I’m looking at you, baby alpaca), none of them is as nice to curl up with as Jason.